Avenue Takes Top Prize at Chef’s Challenge @LongBranchPatch

Tre Amici Executive Chef Matthew Zappoli at Chef's Challenge, Long Branch,  April 2011

Chamber of Commerce hosts second annual Chef’s Challenge at Ocean Place Resort.

Seafood was the dominant theme at the second annual Long Branch Chef’s Challenge held last night at the Ocean Place Resort and Spa.

Executive Chef Dominique Filoni of Avenue took the top prize. His wild black sea bass with maitake mushroom, bok choi, and sesame oil in a lemongrass ginger fish broth won the judges over with its simplicity, texture, and flavor.

“It was perfectly cooked. You wanted to go back for more,” said judge Debbie George who is account director for Food & Wine magazine.

“Simplicity and flavor and texture were the three components to success,” said judge Chris Brandl, chef and owner of Brandl restaurant in Belmar.

“I’m not a big a seafood person. Even the fish had nice crispy ends and soft insides,” said judge Michael Sirianni, director of the Culinary Education Center in Asbury Park. …

For a taste of this fun event, go to Long Branch Patch.

My favorite city restaurant won, but the braised veal breast with porcini marascapone polenta from Sirena RistoranteSirena Ristorante entry, Chef's Challenge, Long Branch, April 2011 and the black grouper over Asian coleslaw with a smoked mango puree from White MarlinWhite Marlin entry, Chef's Challenge, Long Branch, April 2011 were delicious too. I also enjoyed a couple of beers from 21st Ammendment Brewery that were being featured by West End’s Court Liquors: the Back in Black black IPA and the Monk’s Blood Belgian dark ale. I’m generally not a fan of microbrews, but these were both delicious.

Clarence Clemons Asks: Who Do I think I am? @Manasquan-BelmarPatch

Documentary on E Street Band’s ‘Big Man’ premieres at Garden State Film Festival.

Clarence Clemens Garden State Film Festival 016Clarence Clemons had dispersed a crowd on the Great Wall of China so a filmmaker could record him playing his saxophone when a member of the crowd demanded, “Who do you think you are?”

The accusation can be heard off camera in theWho Do I Think I Am? documentary that emerged from the encounter and that Clemons premiered at the Garden State Film Festival in Asbury Park Saturday night.

Clemons narrates the story himself.

It was 2005 and he had gone to China in search of rest and alternative medicine after a grueling tour took a toll on his body. Instead his accuser’s question became both the title and subject of his film and a catalyst for a spiritual quest. …

To find out where his quest leads, go to Manasquan-Belmar Patch.

Race to Economic Recovery Goes to the Tortoise @LaceyPatch

State of the Chamber 2011 keynote speaker forecasts solid job growth by summer

After a new slate of Southern Ocean County Chamber of Commerce officers was installed and elected officials from local municipalities spoke, Joel Naroff, president and founder of Naroff Economic Advisors, delivered a cautiously optimistic business forecast at the 2011 State of the Chamber Meeting in Manahawkin on Feb. 24.

Naroff, who had addressed the group at the height of the economic downturn two years ago, said there’s been significant change since then.

“The problem we have with this recovery is that it is really slow, but it is also the recovery we were always going to get,” Naroff said.

If you think of a recovery as a race, what we wanted was the hare and we got the tortoise. But the tortoise is steadily making its way towards the finish line,” Naroff said. …

Read the Christie administration advisor’s forecast and news about proposed solar and wind farms in Southern Ocean County here.

Who knew the Ivy League gem offered a wealth of free public religion events?

As a girl growing up in Point Pleasant Beach, I didn’t give much thought to Princeton University. It was the 1970s and I was, shall we say, distracted. If I thought about our state’s Ivy League jewel at all, I saw it as an inaccessable, dusty treasure chest full of academic stuffiness and snobbery.

If we’re lucky, we grow up and find out the world’s gems are much more accessable than we ever imagined. What a delight it was then, a few years ago, to learn that Princeton has a thriving faith community and offers a bounty of free public religion events.

It’s a pleasant 45 minute drive west on Route 33 and across Route 1 to the university from coastal Monmouth County and a great way to spend an afternoon or evening while enriching one’s understanding of the religious landscape. …

Read about some upcoming events here. Plus, where to park, eat, and shop in Princeton.

On Quitting the Circus & Coming Home to the Jersey Shore @HuffingtonPost

A while back I was invited to blog for The Huffington Post Religion channel. I had a nice conversation with an editor who I’d met in 2008 at a professional event. I sent a couple emails in reply and heard nothing back. I submitted the post below last week and heard nothing back. I called and left a message for the PR guy who emailed me when the channel went live and heard nothing back. So I’m posting my introductory The Huffington Post post here. Perhaps someone at The Huffington Post will discover it and get in touch, either to tell me that they want it and/or me or that they don’t. Either way, this lighthearted, but very serious post reflects my current spiritual convictions and my current state of mind, which is contentedly and resolutely conflict averse. So,  if you’re reading, just pretend you are at the swarming open-source site being introduced to me for the very first time. Here’s what I’d have to say:

I was sitting on the front porch of the aluminum-sided duplex I rent from my mama and daddy, talking to my chickens and looking through the rusty old chain link fence, past a neighbor’s immovable pile of junk and the port-o-potty that’s taken root in the yard of a newly manufactured home like it’s a perverse old local pine, at a kid in a hunter green pick-up truck squealing out of the neighborhood and I thought to myself, “This is why people call this town Bricktucky.” It’s an insult that I’ve only recently been introduced to, though I’ve lived here at the Jersey Shore nearly all my life.

Never mind that it’s a short two mile jog from my neighborhood to some of the most expensive beach front real estate in New Jersey and nine miles southeast to the party town where American television is creating the same kind of distorted image of the Jersey Shore and Italian Americans that Neil Postman said it does of everything that matters. There’s a Moose Lodge between me and the summering glitterati and the most prominent Italian American influence that I observe here besides the dominant culinary one is the Roman Catholic Church.

It startled me, for example, after a six year sojourn in Orange County, California, to come home and find the local Gannett affiliate reporting on Ash Wednesday services as if they were a matter for serious consideration. In the land of the mega-church, the impartation of ashes was an opportunity to be identified with him who was despised and rejected, or at least with him who was a religious sideshow oddity.

Speaking of the circus, there is the carnival that is summer at the Jersey Shore and then there is a bucolic day-in, day-out life that nourishes those who live it. The same could be said of American Christianity. The abundant life resides in a parallel universe from the carnival performances of pseudo-celebrities and culture warriors left and right. Sometimes the universes intersect. Often they collide.

I didn’t always know this. I had my favorite Christian authors and radio preachers. I heard a particularly insightful one speak at a conference once. He was getting close to retirement and sprinkled his talk with appeals to buy his books so that he could enjoy his golden years. Another one, whose radio broadcasts nourished my budding faith in the early 1980s, was, twenty-five years later, the only mega-church pastor in an affiliation of them to publicly stand by my husband and me after we publicly confronted his spiritual mentor’s corruption.

You can be assured of one thing only when it comes to successful preachers and authors: they are compelling communicators. They’ve no doubt worked hard to get that book or sermon written while you’ve been lounging at the pool (or, in my case, the coop), but I’ve met and/or interviewed enough authors and speakers to assure you that prominence and godliness don’t go together like Guidos and Guidettes. Your grandma is more likely to be an accurate reflection of the risen Christ than anyone who’s sought and endured the limelight, including me.

You need to know this if you want to live the abundant life our savior promises rather than aspiring to the fun house mirror distortion. Becky Garrison gets this and writes about it in her new book, Jesus Died for This? A Satirist’s Search for the Risen Christ. Garrison is the daughter of an eccentric Episcopalian priest. Although her father preached civil rights in the south when that was a dangerous thing to do, he also reportedly dropped acid with Timothy Leary. She writes, “Dad overloaded his sermons with countercultural slogans that were full of tolerance but light on theology. Without the power of the risen Christ, Dad’s civil rights activism that drew him to the priesthood was reduced to Sesame Street sing-alongs.” About her progressive peers, she says, “When peaceful progressives downplay the life-transforming power of the resurrection, they reduce the words of ‘social justice’ Jesus to just another prophetic voice calling people to repent.” And about herself, she reflects, “I can very easily get caught up in critiquing emergent exercises, progressive power plays, and other ungodly games that I forget to follow the living Christ.”

Garrison’s hyperbolic take on American Christianity reminds me of John Hurwitz’s and Hayden Schlossberg’s take on South Jersey in Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle. You remember when the main characters get lost in the Pine Barrens and battle it out with deer and peculiar country bumpkins? When I wasn’t cringing at their crudity, I was laughing myself silly at the duo’s depiction of my sacred soil, because it was so obviously rooted in a wry love of home. (Hurwitz and Schlossberg are natives of semi-rural Randolph, New Jersey). Likewise, Garrison’s skewering of the religious carnival is rooted in her love for the real thing and the bitter experience of seeing the spotlight shine so brightly on the center ring.

So, just remember, next time you’re reading that new spiritual memoir (or any post of mine): if the message doesn’t turn you back to your own life and its local sources of nourishment, turn your back on it.

Now I gotta’ go pickle those beets I picked yesterday with my mama. She taught me most of what I know about loving God and living the Christian life. That’s why I quit the circus and came home to her.

Thanks for reading.

Update 8/19/2010: The Huffington Post published an earlier version of the post. Thanks HuffPo!

The Laborers Wages Are Few @UrbanFaith

My second column is up at Urban Faith. It was inspired by a recent tour I took of the Village of Hope, a ministry of the Orange County Rescue Mission in Southern California. Here’s a clip from the middle that reflects the heart of the piece:

A problem that is not unique to OCRM is that workers are sometimes valued less by donors than the work they do. Although we enable the achievements benefactors want to support, we don’t always give back the ego gratification that some of them desire. So, when I recently toured the Village after not having been there for eighteen months or so, I was somewhat ambivalent about its increasingly impressive campus. …

Read it here.

Running in the Shadow of 9/11 @Her.meneutics

There isn’t much to say in introduction to this essay except that it’s not what I intended to write. I had thought perhaps I’d get it out of my system and then write a more forward looking piece, but the editors wanted this. Here’s a clip from the middle of the essay:

On Sunday morning, the race began with a seven mile loop of Central Park. We emerged from the park onto 7th Avenue to the sound of cheering crowds. A smile crossed my face so big it made me laugh. Owning Times Square for a moment felt as magical as I imagine it must feel to be a Broadway star. We turned right onto 42nd Street and loped over to the West Side Highway, where we were greeted by showgirls and guys dancing and singing us on to victory. It was about then that my legs began to get heavy and tight, but I ran a really smart race. I paced myself, stayed in the shade, stopped at every fluid station, stretched, and ate packets of salt as advised in the 87 degree heat. Someone later asked if I ever thought of quitting. No! I was having too much fun taking pictures and tweeting as I ran and walked!

Besides, how could I quit with Dribble the World runner Ashley Ten Kate bouncing her basketball a few strides ahead of me for 13.1 miles! According to its website, Dribble the World “exists to save the lives of orphans in sub-Saharan Africa using the game of basketball.” There was also the 13.1 Virgin runner, who I thought was running in support of abstinence until someone who doesn’t write about the sexual revolution and its consequences informed me was probably a first time half-marathoner. Duh.

Sprinting for the finish line a couple hundred yards from Ground Zero, though, I started to cry again. It was as if all the happiness and pathos of my life was represented in that course. …

You’ll have to go to Her.meneutics to read the whole thing.

Images from a Perfect Day: NYC .5 ’09

Ready to Go

Running for Virginity

Running for virginity? (Had to be told, no, running her 1st 13.1!)

Team Mates

Teammates

Fluid Station; Seventh Ave.

Fluid Station, Seventh Ave.

Approaching Times Square on 7th Ave.

Approaching Times Square

Entertainment at 42nd St. & West Side Highway

Entertainment at 42nd St. & West Side Highway

Approaching Mile 10

Approaching Mile 10

Passing World Trade Center Site Near the Finish

Passing World Trade Center site near the finish

Refueling after 2:42:18

Refueling after 13.1 miles in 2:42:18

“Poverty is on the Agenda” at UrbanFaith.com

My first article for Urban Faith is up. It’s a report on the Sojourners/World Vision Mobilization to End Poverty event I attended in Washington D.C. last month. My reporting for Urban Faith focuses primarily on the experiences of other attendees at the event. I was also asked to write a blog post for Sojo.net about my own experience at MEP. After agreeing to do so and then attending the event, I realized I had made a mistake because I couldn’t really do honest journalism for the event host. When an outlet reports on its own event, it is called public relations. I decided to submit an honest account of my experience and let the chips fall where they may. Sojo.net elected not to publish this account. I take the editors at their word that the problem was with the writing and not with my critique. It’s pretty dull, I guess, and perhaps tangential, but I present it here nonetheless. Make of it what you will.

What to make of an anti-poverty event that could easily cost participants $500-$1000 or more, depending on how far they traveled, where they slept and what they ate? I ask the question not as a criticism, but because it influenced my one day experience of the Mobilization to End Poverty gathering, and my early exit from it.

The recommended hotel cost $245 a night, an amount higher than any I have ever paid for a hotel, even when my husband earned a six-figure income. I might have stayed at a hostel for $50 if I had acted early, but instead I camped alone for $16 a night at Greenbelt National Park in nearby Maryland. A late model German station wagon served as my “tent.” For dinner I prepared Trader Joe’s noodles with a cup of hot water that I grubbed at McDonald’s. I covered my interior windows with $9 worth of “made in China” tablecloths I had purchased at a nearby dollar store. They quickly filled my abode with the suffocating smell of formaldehyde. (How toxic must those factories be?) As evening wore on, I tried to read the 100th anniversary edition of Walter Rauschenbusch’s Christianity and the Social Crisis, but felt vulnerable, alone and foolish for setting up camp in what passes for a DC suburb.

What little sleep I got was periodically interrupted by the sound of sirens in the distance. Looking put together and professional after such a night is a challenge I don’t care to repeat. It’s a challenge I’m not sure I could endure with grace on a daily basis. By the time I arrived at the convention center, I felt unkempt. Inferior. Apart from attendees I imagined could afford to comfortably lobby and talk about poverty—even though I’ve spent the past six months working hard to gain access to tax-payer funded mental health services for an uninsured and currently uninsurable family member. I rejoice in care of questionable quality because it is something and it’s cheap.

From this vantage point I assessed day one of the Mobilization to End Poverty.

The speakers were inspiring—more consistently inspiring than most on the poverty circuit, according to a couple Sisters of Charity from Leavenworth, Kansas. Biblical mandates flowed freely, and startled when they too closely resembled mandates anointing a different political agenda that had been roundly and rightly criticized from these quarters.

Activists were enthused. A couple expectant Presbyterian fathers from Bradenton, Florida, were there looking for inspiration. They had flown into town, but were staying with friends in the suburbs. One is a church youth group leader; the other a board member of his local chapter of Habitat for Humanity. At the close of day one, both had gained renewed enthusiam for themselves and their ministries. The investment was clearly worth it to them.

 A Lutheran attendee from Pennsylvania said he was excited to be there talking about something other than abortion and gay marriage. Yes, but why must we denounce? The rigor of the abortion debate was appropriate to its time and is evolving in ways appropriate to our time. The gay marriage debate is one worth having. We should applaud it, and add to it, not shirk from it. Ambivalence on this issue dare not speak its name and that’s not good. What does it require of me to oppose hunger or affirm health care reform?  Certainly nothing as gauche as meddling in other people’s sex lives. Unless of course one deigns to get their hands dirty with real people—people like my grandfather, who produced six children and then abandoned them.

It’s easier to meddle in people’s money, especially with an economic crisis and an unpopular war that create convenient platforms upon which to build our case. On Monday afternoon, no less than former CEO and current World Vision president Richard Stearns compared the 2009 economic collapse to the 1989 fall of communism, saying unrestrained capitalism had been found “bankrupt” and “inadequate” in the same way unrestrained communism had twenty years ago. He spoke truth to the choir.

So let me meddle. In addition to denouncing corporate greed, how about, as longtime urban minister Rudy Carrasco suggested to me, we lobby business for its support in the same way we lobby elected officials? Doing it already? Fine. Then don’t dismiss the interests of business.

Instead of comparing and contrasting one pro-life cause with another, as Monday night’s preacher did, how about we make Obama accountable for his promises to support responsible fatherhood, adoption and abortion reduction?

In my husband’s work as case worker and pastor to homeless men at Double R Ranch in Warner Springs, CA, one of his responsibilities was to help men re-enter the lives of their children. Often this meant getting them to see beyond themselves and their own histories of failure to the welfare of others. The process began with caring for the ranch’s 40+ horses and other animals. It also included requiring them to contribute a portion of their minuscule incomes to the support of their children and facing the women who were busy cleaning up their messes.

Last year, I emailed my elected representatives to ask them to vote for the Paul Wellstone-Pete Domenici Mental Health Parity and Addiction Equity Act of 2008, a bill that requires insurers that offer mental health coverage to do so equitably. A bill that President Obama sponsored as a senator and that President Bush signed into law. It’s a pro-life issue I heartily supported as the mother of a child who died by suicide and whose birth was ensured by the advocacy of notorious pro-lifers like the late Jerry Falwell.

I realized this week that I cannot afford face time with my legislators in Washington right now, but I can make a difference. First by caring for my own family members and others within my sphere of influence, second by contributing tax revenue to fund sources of support upon which my loved ones currently depend, third by advocating for a wide variety of pro-life causes and, finally, by challenging my peers.

So let me close with this reflection: It’s great to rally the troops and celebrate our victories, as long as we don’t become the thing we despise. Don’t become the thing you despised Sojourners. You have friends of all political and theological persuasions.

Update: Sojourners included my UrbanFaith article in their media accounts of MEP.

New Jersey by Gabriel G. Scheller

Manasquan Beach

 

New Jersey, where it’s not too hot

and Gramma’s spaghetti always hits the spot.

I wanna’ go home, now you know that I been missin’ it.

I can’t get back; I’m lost like Odysseus.

Where I’m at is cool; it’s not that I hate it;

it’s just complicated.

I love Cali, but it’s over-rated;

I could spend a whole day out in the sunshine,

but I miss orange leaves on the trees sometimes.

I miss rainy days;

I miss light flurries;

I miss 7-11 runs and blueberry Slurpees.

It’s not Georgia that I got on my mind;

it’s my home, New Jersey, that I think about all the time.

I wanna’ be rollin’, kickin’ it with my homies,

going to Italian restaurants, eatin’ macaronis.

Without the food, a little piece of my heart is gone,

’til the day I can say I had good chicken parmesan.

I love my home ’cause

th-that’s familiar,

to get back buh-bak-bu-back to ma familia.

‘Cause when I’m home

they be buggin’ and sh*t;

we be huggin’ and sh*t;

just be lovin’ the sh*t.

A smile on everybody’s faces,

my little cousin actin’ up

so you know I gotta’ chase him!

Just hangin’ in the park, kickin’ it

with the old folks;

when it comes to playin’ chess, geriatrics

are no joke.

I go by the beach to catch the scent in the air.

I love how they talk; my accent is there.

I miss you house on Atlantic Avenue;

it sucks, ’cause I won’t

be comin’ back to you.

And you know Mike’s Subs are like heaven on a bun.

I can finally hit AC, now that I’m 21.

I be missin’ days, cruisin’ on the Parkway;

long trips to wherever,

playin’ stupid car games.

Philly to the left,

beaches to the right,

travel up to New York, where we party all night.

It’s been a little too long since we

lived in that happy home.

I need some crazy Jersey ladies

with big hair and tacky clothes.

So when life is stressful and I’m all worried,

I take time in my mind to

go back to Jersey.

[© Gabriel G. Scheller 11/05, Wheaton, IL; photo: Manasquan, NJ 2007]

Gralla ’08

From Jewish medical ethics to the mikveh: 14 journalists complete ’08 Gralla Fellows Program at Brandeis

 
 
WALTHAM, Mass. – Fourteen journalists from eight states and Canada participated in the 2008 Gralla Fellows Program for Religion Journalists at Brandeis University.
The Gralla Fellows Program, the premier advanced journalism seminar in the nation on the American Jewish community, is designed to enhance journalists’ knowledge of Judaism, American Jewish life and trends relevant to religion reporting. The program was held July 13-18 on the Brandeis campus. Fellows, including religion reporters from media outlets including The Washington Post, Houston Chronicle, Beliefnet.com and Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, were selected from a competitive pool of candidates in print, broadcast and digital media.

 

During this year’s program fellows had the opportunity to meet with leading scholars, communal leaders, and reporters to explore topics ranging from politics and the coming election, to American Jews and Islam, to how the economy impacts religion. In addition to the seminars and workshops, fellows visited the Mayyim Hayyim Living Waters Community Mikveh and Education Center in Newton, Mass., two synagogues in the Boston area, and other Jewish sites to become better acquainted with Judaism and to learn more about issues in Jewish life they can report about.
Jonathan D. Sarna, the Joseph H. and Belle R. Braun Professor of American Jewish History in the Department of Near Eastern and Judaic Studies, and the director of Hornstein: The Jewish Professional Leadership Program @ Brandeis, directs the Gralla Program along with associate director Ellen Smith.
Founded in 1998, the Gralla Program is open to journalists in the early and middle stages of their careers.  In odd-numbered years the program focuses on journalists in the Jewish press.  In even-numbered years, the program is offered to religion journalists.
The program is made possible by a grant from Milton Gralla, co-founder of Gralla Publications and creator and editor of outstanding trade publications for more than 30 years.  Fellows receive funding for tuition, room and board, and a travel stipend.
Since 1998, the Gralla Program has trained more than 200 fellows.

 

The 2008 Gralla Fellows include:
 
Kay Campbell, faith and values editor, The Huntsville Times, Huntsville, Ala.
Deena Guzder, freelance journalist, New York City, N.Y.
Barbara Karkabi, religion writer, Houston Chronicle, Houston, Texas
Alana Elias Kornfeld, assistant editor and Judaism editor, Beliefnet.com, New York City, N.Y.
Frank Lockwood, religion editor, Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, Little Rock, Ark.
Christine Morente, faith editor/staff writer, San Mateo County Times, San Mateo, Calif.
Max Pearlstein, Brandeis University, Waltham, Mass.
Mirko Petricevic, religion reporter, Waterloo Region Record, Kitchener, Ontario, Canada
Jacqueline Salmon, religion reporter, Washington Post, Fairfax, Va.
Christine Scheller, freelance journalist, Irvine, Calif.
Lois Solomon, religion reporter, South Florida Sun-Sentinel, Boca Raton, Fla.
Tamar Snyder, staff writer, The Jewish Week, New York City, N.Y.
Sharon Udasin, staff writer, The Jewish Week, New York City, N.Y.
Steven Vegh, religion staff writer, The Virginian-Pilot, Norfolk, Va.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Max Pearlstein ’01

University and Media Relations Specialist
Office of Communications
Brandeis University
781-736-4206
Fax: 781-736-4209

 Images from Gralla ’08

 

 

A History    

     

    

 

 

 

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photos ©cas 2008, all rights reserved.] 

New York Night by Gabriel G. Scheller

New York is beautiful.

I forgot how much I missed it.

So much life in this city. American remix.

Culture rich city. I’ll move there someday,

just to see the breakers dancing in the subway.

There’s no music there; the sound system’s busted.

D-line. Old man, hands calloused and crusted.

The music flows out of his fingers to his violin.

Bach. Dvorak.

I don’t know which one it is,

but it’s beautiful.

The notes send shivers down my spine.

So crisp and so clear, from his soul to mine.

Moving on. Late night. Lost.

Times Square.

Eerie neon piercing the cold winter air.

The streets are packed.

I bump a shoulder. I’m sorry.

Thousands of people, each with his own story.

So many eyes, so many faces, so many mouths.

One in particular manages to stick out.

A creature with many eyes; they keep blinking at me,

opening, closing, keepin’ a beat.

Its voice, its cry, warm and mellow. Its skin,

shiny gold. Carmel. Yellow.

The streets. The people. The music in my ears.

I throw him some change from my pocket;

I played the sax for 8 years.

He asked me why I stopped.

I didn’t have an answer.

He started again. I walked away faster.

Time to go. Where’s my train?

I hope I don’t get lost again,

but I make it on time.

Seventh Ave. MTV.

I remember that hot dog stand.

I’m actually early.

Good thing;

 Gramma woulda’ been worried.

I walk to a shop.

Penn Station is huge.

Buy some water.

Two men lookin’ used.

They have a tired, sad look in their eyes,

like their spirits are broken,

like they want to cry,

like they been to hell and back.

Put down their beers.

They were Brian and Tone.

They’ve forgotten

more than I’ve known.

A comment,

as usual,

about my ‘fro.

Be proud to be black.

[© GGS 2005, all rights reserved.]